Tom’s interest picked up a little at this news.
‘Do you have the girl’s profile there?’
Pet swivelled the screen round so he could see the small image of the escort. Tom stared at the picture of the young, pretty girl dressed in a tacky schoolgirl uniform, hair fashioned into pigtails, with a provocative look on her face spoiled by flat, dead eyes.
It was Ana.
23
‘You know this girl?’
Tom nodded. ‘She was a working girl at the brothel I was at when I was undercover. Whoever our dirty cop is, he’s clearly a client. She will know who he is, and this could be a major deal. It certainly explains the hold the Brankos have over him. If he’s as senior as I suspect he is, then consorting with prostitutes would finish him.’
‘So where do we go from here?’
‘I need to speak to Ana. She knows who the bent cop is, even if she doesn’t know she knows it.’
‘Is it safe to speak to her? She was with the Brankos.’
‘I don’t know. I always got on well with her but Aleks told me they’d packed the girls off back to Bosnia as they were getting troublesome. I don’t know if that’s true or not.’
That was a quandary. Ana had the information, even if she didn’t consciously know it. Tom had got on well with her, but a feature of trafficked victims is they often don’t feel like victims in the traditional sense. He didn’t know whether she knew he was an undercover cop or not, and meeting her could land him in the hands of his enemies. Pet interrupted his chain of thought.
‘Did she have a phone?’
‘I think so. She was Mira’s favourite.’ He reached for his phone and located her number, reading it out to Pet.
‘Give me a minute, I’ll see what I can come up with.’
While Pet tapped away, Tom dug out the SD card and picked up a blank envelope from the rosewood desk in the corner of the room. Tucking the SD card inside, he scribbled his old friend Buster’s address on the front of the envelope. Buster was now also a cop; he’d joined the year after Tom and was serving as a Detective Constable in the Met’s Professional Standards branch, where he’d joined straight from the City of London Force as a ‘clean skin’ officer, working in anti-corruption. There had been suspicions of organised corruption in a few squads, and the Met had imported some new blood from outside forces to root out the problem.
Tom needed the SD card away from him, and a couple of days in the postal system and then in the care of his old friend would keep it as safe as could be reasonably expected. There was no link between Tom and Buster on record, despite them serving together in the SRR. The discharge papers said that Tom left the Royal Marines and Buster left the Parachute Regiment, which was a side-benefit of SRR not officially existing as far as the public were concerned. He scribbled a brief note on a Post-It note: ‘Buster, guard this with your life and I’ll be in touch soon. Keep it firmly under your hat. Love, Borat.’
Signing off with his old nickname, known only to Buster, was an instinctive safety measure to keep their association quiet.
‘Okay, looks like Ana is still in the UK. The phone has been busy with lots of calls in and out and messages hitting cell sites in Islington, close to Upper Street. Looking at the traffic on the escort site, she is still working.’
Tom went into his phone’s contact list and read out the numbers he had for Mira, Aleks and Luka.
‘Any trace of those numbers on her call history?’
‘Mira’s number was calling it until three days ago, but no trace of the other two.’
So it would seem she wasn’t working for the Brankos any longer. That wasn’t unusual; working girls often changed hands between pimps for a fee.
It still didn’t answer the question of whether it was safe to call Ana. She may have new pimps who wouldn’t like it, and they might go straight to the Brankos. He couldn’t pose as a client as that could just be walking straight into their hands if the Brankos were still controlling her. The other factor weighing heavily on Tom’s mind was that he didn’t want to expose Ana to risk; they’d kill her just as quickly as they killed Ivan.
‘I’ve an idea,’ Pet said, looking at Tom. ‘I’m looking into her phone. It’s a pre-pay, no contract, but it’s linked to a Facebook account and has a Cloud password. If I can bypass those, we may be able to view her last phone backup which would include all messages, emails, photographs and videos. If they are blackmailing the corrupt cop, then she may have the compromising pictures or videos. It has to be worth a look.’
‘It would certainly be safer. How confident are you that you can bypass the password?’ he asked.
‘Facebook will be easier: I can run a simple brute force attack on the password. I’ve a programme I wrote that narrows down possible passwords by scanning all social media and online information for any subject. Once I’ve got that password, if she’s not careful, I’m betting it will be the same all over. Most people aren’t security-conscious and are just plain lazy.’
‘Do it. We need a break, and at least I won’t get her killed this way.’
While Pet worked, Tom took the opportunity to take a short stroll to the twenty-four-hour convenience store nearby to buy a second-class stamp for the envelope containing the SD card, and two coffees. Posting the envelope, he felt pleased that it was safe and out of the way for at least a couple of days.
Returning to the apartment with the coffees, he found Pet punching the air in triumph.
‘Boom! Password cracked, and she was using the same for both as I expected. People are so lax!’
‘Genius is what you are, Pet. Let’s have a look.’
‘Okay, she has a reasonable number of photos saved in files and folders and her WhatsApp backup is available. There’s very little stored in her emails or SMS so I’m guessing she doesn’t really use them.’
‘Can we search for messages from our bent cop?’
‘Sure thing. I’m downloading the messages into Excel, so it’ll be easy. I can cross-reference with all the numbers we’ve encountered so far and see what we get.’ She typed furiously as she spoke before saying, ‘Right, there are a number of messages to and from our bent cop, who she has saved in her phone as “Toni.” Mostly arrangements to meet or slightly suggestive ones, and him declaring his adoration for her and how beautiful he is. Gee, what a creep.’
‘Carry on,’ said Tom.
‘Okay. Quite a few messages from our friend at the NCA as well, asking if she can sort parties out for the two of them, plus friends. Jesus, how many bent cops are there?’
That was a bit of a revelation. So whoever it was at the NCA feeding information to the bent cop was also using the Brankos’ services. That meant they had a hold over at least two cops or NCA agents.
‘Can you run all the numbers alongside each other, cross-referencing and looking for anything that appears on the bills for all the numbers we have so far? I’m looking for anyone that appears between our dirty cop and dirty NCA Man. My guess is we have a group of cops or agents who share the same taste in women,’ Tom said.
Pet continued to work at the computer while Tom checked the window of the flat opposite with his binoculars. The laser-listener remained quiet and there was no movement at the windows.
‘Okay. I have three numbers that all seem to call each other as well as calling the Brankos and Ana. One is the dirty cop, one is dirty NCA Man, the other ends in 419. I’ll check that one out now.’ Her face was a picture of concentration as she typed away.
Tom was seriously impressed with her efficiency and could see why she’d be a prized asset of the CIA. The intelligence she was finding in seconds would take weeks through official channels.
‘It’s a burner phone again: most of its calls are to the other two plus several to the Brankos and Ana,’ she said.
An idea flashed into Tom’s head.
‘Can you get cell sites for all the phones? Use time parameters that will give us the best indications of where the phone is during
work hours and where it is first thing in the morning and last thing at night.’
That was a classic investigator’s trick. The first call in the morning and last call at night generally indicated the area someone lived. During the day, if the phone was static long enough, then that would indicate where someone worked.
‘It’s a good job I have good e-discovery software, Mr Detective, or this would take forever. Hold on.’
A minute or so later, she ran her fingers through her hair and yawned. ‘Okay, cell sites for Dirty Cop put it hitting cell sites during work hours in London NW6, Kilburn. There’s a mix of masts but best guess is Salisbury Road. After-hours seems to be in Watford.’
Tom’s eyes did not display the impact of this news.
‘That’s Kilburn nick; that’s my police station. The bent bastard is a colleague. Who’s next?’ His matter-of-fact tone was a little unnerving.
‘NCA Man’s work hours we know; out-of-hours he’s in Hemel Hempstead.’
Tom nodded and said nothing.
‘Last man, 419 number: working hours is IG1 postcode, Ilford Town. Looks like he’s sleeping at an address in St Albans.’
‘That’s Ilford Police Station, where Adebayo was in custody. I’m laying bets that’s who erased the SD card.’
So, there it is, thought Tom. Three corrupt public officials, all living close to each other in Hertfordshire, all using the same prostitutes, all eminently corruptible because of their lifestyles, and all with the opportunity to carry out what had happened.
‘We’ve got their phone numbers, we know where they work, we just don’t know who they are yet.’ Pet looked at Tom, whose face remained blank. ‘I’ve checked the timeline and the calls between them all match the events so far,’ she said. ‘Your Ilford man was called by Bent Cop while Adebayo was in custody, and the other calls match what’s happened so far. We have the three of them, so we just need to find out who they are. But how?’
‘Let’s skim through the photos and then get some rest.’
Pet brought the photo-roll up on the screen with each folder displayed.
‘For a working girl, her pictures are well-organised. Look: all labelled,’ Pet said.
It was true: there were eight folders, each labelled clearly.
Tom’s eyes went straight to the folder marked Hackney and he tapped the screen. ‘That one.’
Pet opened the folder and a series of thumbnail pictures appeared on the screen. She enlarged the first which showed three girls, all dressed in lingerie, arm-in-arm. Tom recognised them all as the three girls from the brothel.
‘Scroll through steadily.’
The pictures were a mix of the girls with each other, alone or with various males at some type of party. Inane drunken grins appeared all over, and the seediness was evident even through the screen.
Pet scrolled through mostly similar photographs until Tom shouted, ‘Stop, go back!’
Pet clicked back to the previous image, showing a lurid picture of Ana and one of the girls arm-in-arm, both dressed in skimpy underwear, clutching joints and glasses of champagne. They were stood in front of a dressing table laden with cosmetics, contraceptives and a large vibrator. But it wasn’t the items or even the girls that drew his attention, it was the reflection of the half-dressed person taking the photograph. Tom took in the thinning hair, the weak chin, the pallid cheeks.
Detective Chief Inspector Simon Taylor’s blotched and puffy face leered back at him, holding the camera phone in front of his pale, bare chest.
24
Tom felt the rage rising within him. It was a colleague. His boss had tried as hard as he could to provide the information which would have him killed and had also been indirectly responsible for Ivan being brutally slaughtered.
He felt the fury build, threatening to engulf him, but he forced it back down. He had to remain focused. He still had a job to do, but he knew one thing: Taylor would pay for this. They would all pay for this.
‘Tom?’ Pet’s voiced pierced the fog that was filling Tom’s head.
‘That’s my boss: DCI Simon Taylor. He’s working for the Brankos and trying to have me killed.’
Pet paused for a second, thinking of the impact of this information.
‘What can we do?’
‘We need some rest and I need some time to think. I can’t confront him as this is all off-the-books. It’s illegal and none of it is evidence. Christ, I could end up in jail for what I’ve done so far. I’m going to have to do this my way, nothing official, and I’m keeping everything to myself until I know who all the bent bastards are.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
‘I need to speak to Stan and my old friend, Buster. I also need to be sure that Taylor is as corrupt as I think he is and not just someone who uses prostitutes. I suggest some sleep and we can start again when fresh tomorrow.’
‘Sounds fine to me, Detective. I’m exhausted.’ Pet stretched and yawned, her arms raised above her head. ‘We should sleep.’
‘Sure. Let’s do that.’ Tom moved towards the bathroom.
He took stock of where he was. If it wasn’t clear before that he had no way back, then it was crystal-clear now. He was being chased by the Serb mafia, who were being fed live, intrusive intelligence by a corrupt police officer aided by an NCA agent who was using resources normally used to fight terrorism. The destruction of the SD card at Ilford showed that there was also at least one other corrupt asset he did not yet know about. He had only one option: keep fighting forward. He was going to bring these people down.
*
He woke early and lay in bed for a few moments, thinking through what lay ahead.
Pet stirred in her bed. ‘Can we get a nice breakfast before we start work? I’m hungry,’ she said, smiling through sleepy eyes.
‘You know, Pet, you don’t have to be here. You’ve done so much for me so far. If you needed to go, I would understand.’ Tom spoke earnestly: it made him a little uncomfortable to be relying on another person, even in a case like that. But, in reality, another part of him realised he still needed her.
‘You don’t get rid of me that easily. Mike told me I was with you until this is resolved.’
‘Well, as long as you’re sure. I really appreciate the help. I’m going to take a shower first and then I have a plan.’
‘Care to enlighten me?’ she smiled.
Tom returned her smile. ‘I’m going to need to find out what is on Taylor’s computers. Can you help me with that?’
‘Of course, depending on how close you can get to them. If you can get direct access to his hard drive, I can give you everything. If it’s remote access I will be a bit more limited in what I can do. It’ll cost you a cooked breakfast, either way.’
‘Deal,’ said Tom, throwing off the sheets and making for the bathroom.
As he showered, he realised he was going to have to seek a favour from not only Stan, but Buster as well. He couldn’t take Pet to those meetings as he was probably going to ask them to do something not strictly legal, and neither of them would want a witness.
He quickly dried off and got dressed again before rejoining Pet. They left the apartment and headed up to the restaurant, where they both ordered scrambled eggs on toast, and coffee.
The Brankos were currently missing; he didn’t know where, but he didn’t feel he would learn much more from listening to them in any case. He could ask Pet to track them by their phones and monitor the laser-listening device while he did what he had to do.
One thing was for sure; he needed some help in identifying Simon Taylor’s cohorts and the only two people he knew he could trust were Buster and Stan.
‘I have to go off on my own for a bit,’ he said.
‘Why alone?’
‘I need to meet a couple of guys. They’re friends and I trust them, but I may be asking them to do something questionable and they’d be more comfortable without a stranger in tow.’
‘Okay. So what do I do?’
�
�Can you monitor cell sites on all the phones we know about? I need to make sure I’m not going to bump into the Brankos, and I also need the laser-listener monitored just in case something comes up.’
‘I can do that, but are those really all the reasons why you want me out of the way?’ She fixed him with a piercing stare.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t want you getting hurt, Pet. I’m going to have to confront these guys soon, and Ivan was killed because of me.’
‘I can look after myself. I’m a big girl. But I understand you have to do what you have to do. Just make sure you come back; you’re a good guy.’ She smiled but there wasn’t much humour in her green eyes.
Tom smiled back. ‘Come on, let’s go. We’ve work to do, and I can’t do it without you.’
Tom paid the bill, and they went back to apartment 618, Pet settling straight in front of her laptop.
‘I have to go,’ Tom said. ‘Can I take the satellite phone? I need to make untraceable calls while I’m out and about.’
‘Take what you need, Detective. I’ll be here waiting for you and you need to call me regularly.’ She programmed her number into the phone and tossed it to Tom, who caught and pocketed it. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, like getting killed.’
‘I’ll try my very best,’ he replied and left the apartment, taking just his burner phone and the satellite and leaving the Sig in the grab-bag. He really didn’t want to be caught in possession of it; he had enough problems without risking a firearms charge as well.
*
Tom sat in the Passat in the Canaletto’s car park and took a moment to compose his thoughts. He snapped open his burner phone and dialled the number for Stan, who answered with his usual cheery, ‘CID office Kilburn, how may I help you?’
Going Dark Page 17
